


Hungry for what I will not call Love

by thishasnomeaning



Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, M/M, domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 21:15:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20495447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thishasnomeaning/pseuds/thishasnomeaning
Summary: On Saturday morning, Montgomery de la Cruz made breakfast: scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, coffee, orange juice.Winston was fed bits of bacon and egg while lying in bed. He could see the sun shining. His lover would never use the word love for what was between them (not now, not in a week, not in a month – given a year maybe Monty would have said that he loved Winston and Winston, that fool, would have said it too). But he was tender, and he was loving. It was a good morning.-Monty and Winston have a great weekend at first that takes a bad turn because Monty is fucked up like that.





	Hungry for what I will not call Love

**Author's Note:**

> I warn you, this weekend doesn't turn out the way I wish it would.

Montgomery de la Cruz and Winston Williams had quite a weekend together.  
  
Friday night was crazy. It was sex and it was wild and it was not leaving after. It was quite the opposite of that.  
  
On Saturday morning, Montgomery de la Cruz made breakfast: scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, coffee, orange juice.  
  
Winston was fed bits of bacon and egg while lying in bed. He could see the sun shining. His lover would never use the word love for what was between them (not now, not in a week, not in a month – given a year maybe Monty would have said that he loved Winston and Winston, that fool, would have said it too). But he was tender, and he was loving. It was a good morning.  
  
Monty had imagined that he might prepare breakfast for a lover one day. But that lover had to be a woman. He would care for that woman. He would go out with her, to a fancy restaurant perhaps. Go to the movies or to a concert. One day, he would buy her a ring and then he would buy a fancy house and a fancy car and they would go on fancy vacations with their kids. He would have a real job and he would be a real father. Not like his dad, that piece of shit.  
  
The problem was, he could not imagine fucking that fantasy woman. He did fuck Winston. No, he was fucking with Winston, that faggot. And there were things he could imagine doing with Winston, doing for Winston. If only for a flash of a second. And that was scary as fuck.  
  
Fucking Winston was something. Sleeping next to him, sharing a bed and a secret (and a kiss – most importantly – a kiss – about a thousand hungry kisses), touching Winston’s skin, preparing breakfast for him, looking in his eyes – that was something. It was the most important something that Monty had ever felt. The most frightening. And the very best.  
  
Saturday was playing video games and ordering pizza and touching each other and watching netflix and fun.  
  
Saturday night, Monty discovered the home bar. First that was fun. Monty’s kisses grew more desperate with every glass of rum. More hungry with every glass of whiskey. And Winston was so so hungry for Monty as well. For being desired by Monty.  
  
It did not stay fun for long. Winston grew thoughtful from vodka. And how could he be sad. Just because the boy he was falling hard for was ‘not gay’. He was. He obviously was. He needed time. But Winston couldn’t wait. Not for Monty growing a spine.  
  
And Monty wasn’t particularly patient either. He wanted sex and he desired Winston and Winston was there and Winston could be sad another time. It was that simple.  
Monty: Suck me off, bitch.  
  
Winston: I’ve told you, I’m not in the mood. And don’t call me bitch.  
  
Monty: I will call you whatever the fuck I want to call you, faggot. Now suck me off.  
  
Winston did not. And Monty hit him in the face, just like that. Simple as that.  
  
Monty was far from done with beating the shit out of Winston, that bitch that made him hot first and then chose to back out. The faggot who seduced him. He was so far from done with that. It is the way of the world and it is like they say. It is fate. Like father, like son.  
  
And Winston sucked Monty off. Until Monty pulled out to fuck his ass. And then, it hurt. And Winston told Monty to stop. And Monty didn’t stop.  
  
Later that night, Montgomery de la Cruz was sleeping. Like a kid. Like an angel. And Winston Williams was crying in his arms.  
  
On Sunday morning, Montgomery de la Cruz made breakfast: scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, coffe, orange juice and pancakes.  
  
That morning, Monty asked Winston whether he was okay. And Winston said yes. Then Winston gave Monty a blowjob (it was just a bit rough) and Monty (still not gay) jerked Winston off. They were kissing later, and cuddling (no, not holding onto each other for dear life, not that – and Monty would not call it cuddling but cuddling it was).  
  
They played video games and ordered Thai. And Monty had fun.  
  
Later, Winston said (his face still bruised): I’m not sure if we can make this work.  
  
Monty said: We will make this work. I will.  
  
He didn’t say: You will not leave me. You will stay, no questions asked. You will not forget, that I exist. Like everyone does.  
  
But Winston understood. And he did not forget about Monty. Not ever.  
  
And the sun was shining all day. Monty found reason to laugh. And Winston laughed too (his face still bruised).  
  
The next day, Winston Williams wanted to go to the police station and he didn’t. Because he knew what people might do to a gay guy in prison. Because he knew what Monty’s father would say. And no one deserves that. Those were good reasons not to report rape. Those were the reasons why Winston didn’t tell the police about Monty raping him. Or at least Winston wanted to believe that there was no other reason that kept him from reporting Monty.  
  
Months later, after Thanksgiving (and this year, Winston Williams was thankful for nothing), after the first snow had turned gray on the streets, Winston Williams did go to the police station.  
  
He did not say: I was raped and beaten by Montgomery de la Cruz.  
  
He did say: Montgomery de la Cruz was not a murderer.  
  
(And Winston did love that motherfucker. For a moment. In a way.)


End file.
